Come To My Window
by Fadeaway Windwaker
Summary: “Maybe he calls out your name,” he whispered, restarting the slow, careful movement of his hips against hers. He dropped his head, burying his face in her neck. “Rory,” he breathed, his exhalations rapid and irregular. “Rory…” Literati oneshot


A/N: A bit of smut, a bit of plot, a lot of Jess. The phrase "sexual tension" abounds.

**Come To My Window**

Fadeaway Windwaker

* * *

Her breathing grew ragged, erratic as he straddled her. She inhaled heavily and closed her eyes, feeling his hands at the hem of her shirt. His fingers kissed the sensitive skin of her stomach and she bit her lip, clutching at his neck. She had that sudden falling feeling, though she was underneath him on her bed and couldn't even roll over, let alone fall off. The absurdity of the thought made her laugh. Her head was spinning. 

The sound coming from her mouth drew his lips back to it, and she felt him smile against her tongue. They kissed with rich abandon, all thoughts of consequence having disappeared when she held out her hand to help him climb in the window. In one swift motion the cotton of her shirt was swept over her head and his lips left hers, beginning a journey down her throat. She only laughed again and held him tighter, playing with the silky hair at the nape of his neck.

His mouth was demanding. His tongue pressed into her skin and she shivered with the force, shifting and wrapping her legs around his waist. His hips ground against hers and she gasped, fingernails digging into his scalp.

"J-Jess," she moaned breathlessly, panting. "Oh, Jess…"

His mouth froze on her shoulder, and her skin suddenly chilled as though he had sucked all the warmth from it. He moved away from her slowly without looking into her eyes, as if he were too disgusted with her to even spare a glance. She shuddered, hugging herself with apologetic confusion, until his coffee eyes met hers by mistake and she realized.

"D-Dean! I…I…" Her mouth gaped in silent horror, her eyes begging him to wait until she could find a reasonably believable explanation, anything besides what she knew was running through his mind at the moment. "Dean, I…I can explain…" The falling feeling had returned, except now it was in her stomach.

"Of course you can," he muttered tonelessly, reaching for his other sneaker. "You always do." His eyes were so empty she felt like he was looking straight through her. He fixed his hollow gaze on the wall behind her head.

She opened her mouth to speak again but the words fell without sound to the blanket, and she could only stare at her hands. Her stomach constricted. "It was a mistake," she finally managed to whisper, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

She heard him swallow through the heavy tension. "Maybe this whole relationship was a mistake." She could feel his eyes trying to read her. "After all, it's been a little one-sided these past few months, hasn't it?" The touch of scorn in his voice was so bitter it made her eyes water.

"Dean…" She inhaled shakily. "Please…"

"Please what, Rory? Sit here obediently while you lie to me again? Go home and pretend this never happened, ignore it like I've ignored so many other things?" He shook his head, laughing sourly. "I can't believe this. I really can't _believe_ this." He looked at her, coffee-brown eyes glaring. "You said you loved me." His tone was disbelieving, as if he was dreaming the entire thing.

She was shaking now, clutching her knees. "Please…I'm sorry…" Her voice vibrated.

He picked up her shirt from where it lay beside him, tossing it into her lap. She looked up and met his eyes for the first time since the mistake, and suddenly wasn't sure if he had intended for her to put the shirt back on or if it had just been a way of getting her attention.

"That doesn't change anything," he told her flatly, rising from the bed and picking up his jacket from the floor. He made his way to the window, his movements slow and deliberate like someone leaving a battle scene. His fingers curled around the cool metal of the latch, and only by summoning every last shred of his pride and self-control did he manage to exit her bedroom without looking back.

"Goodbye, Rory," he whispered as he slipped in between the shadows and out of her sight. Her fingers lingered on her throat where his mouth had been, and she waited until his figure had disappeared before uncertain arms guided themselves back through the sleeves of her T-shirt and brimming eyes spilled over.

* * *

She was at Luke's at 6:15 in the morning, unable to think of any other place to go. With scorned hands curled around a cup of coffee she stared blankly ahead, scrunching her body and trying to disappear inside her jacket. 

It was cold. She hadn't stopped shivering since Dean left last night. She wondered blankly if she would ever stop.

Luke hadn't asked questions. He seemed to know better. Maybe it was the fact that she was still in her pajamas that tipped him off. Maybe he thought she was going to tell him something he didn't want to hear.

If she hadn't made the mistake, maybe she would be. She couldn't decide if that was worse or not. Somehow she guessed it didn't really matter.

She sipped the coffee before it was cooled, scorching the raw redness of her throat. She coughed, wiping tired grief from her eyes. She closed the sapphire windows and began painting a picture in her mind, the way things could have been different. The images were heavy, rich as they smothered her. She shifted in her seat, a ghost of a moan escaping her lips. In her lap her fists clenched.

"Do I _want_ to know what you're thinking about?" The sarcastic drawl matched the mouth in her head, and Rory opened her eyes to see the object of her mistake standing behind the counter. She gritted her teeth.

"As if you actually expect me to tell you," she muttered, hunching over and clutching her cup protectively. Her head felt strangely light.

He stepped back, holding up his hands in mock innocence. "Hey, I'm not expecting anything. Just wondering if Luke knows you're sitting at his counter having an orgasm."

She made a face, turning away from him. "Shut up, Jess."

"Oh, testy this morning. I've always wondered when I'd get to see Rory Gilmore: Girl Behind the Mask. I guess not even girls bound for Harvard can be perfect all the time, huh?" He ran a hand through his unruly hair, smirking.

"Asshole," she muttered acridly under her breath. She heard Jess gasp in feigned amazement and rolled her eyes in anticipation of his next comment, wondering why such a sharp tongue rested at the center of her fantasies.

"Hey, let's not forget this is a family restaurant, okay? Take your declining morals outside." Amusement flashed in his enticing depths as he leaned forward, face inches away from her own. His exhales aggravated her cheeks. She glared into his gaze.

"Fine." Rory responded flatly, standing from her seat at the counter and turning to leave. She was halfway out the door when his voice caught up to her.

"Okay but if you ever find yourself thirsting for sexual tension, you know where to find me." His laughter echoed in the November air as she made her awkward, angry way down the sidewalk, intent on making her way home and spending the remainder of the day in her room where she would be free of the town's scrutiny. Lorelai was in New York City with some date or other, something she felt grateful for just now. She needed to be alone. Her hollow footsteps reverberating through the comatose streets reminded her of the time. Briefly she wondered why Jess was even awake at this hour but brushed the thought away; it shouldn't matter to her, anyway.

A scowl darkened her features as his eyes found themselves back inside her mind, those two midnight orbs that she could not get rid of, tempting, teasing, making her call her boyfriend by the wrong name. But then, she guessed he wasn't her boyfriend anymore.

Her thoughts were instantly set to whirlwind. _Then…then it would be okay to…Jess…_

**_No._** She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her jacket sleeves. No, it wouldn't. Not now.

Maybe it would never be okay.

* * *

She was in the process of rolling over when she heard it, in that stage of half-sleep where your eyes open and close, open and close, and you start drifting off again. It was a slight sound, no louder than the _click_ of a flashlight being turned on. But despite the volume level and her state of delirium she heard it, and the familiarity of the noise made her cringe. 

She left the bed slowly, shivering as the blankets fell away from her body. Tentative fingers met the frigid glass of her bedroom window, undid the latch. Her eyes grew cold as the pane when she saw him, and she stood with her hands on her hips. The cheesecakes on her pajama pants undermined her authority.

His smile was smug. "That was quick. You must be used to this." His gaze raked over her, taking in the tight white T-shirt, the slightest glimpse of vanilla stomach above the candy-pink pajama pants, the rumpled bed-hair. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." His eyes narrowed in satisfaction. She scowled.

"What do you want, Jess?" She hoped the tone stung his spirit as much as it stung her throat. It was hurting her, to stand and look at him like this. It was too much like last night. Maybe more like she had wanted it to be.

He shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Oh, witty dialogue, withering glares, sexual tension, the usual. Unless you've got anything else in mind." His smirk made her stomach smolder.

Rory crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. "There. That's your 'withering glare'. Here is your witty dialogue," she held up her middle finger, "and as for the sexual tension bit, go see if you can find Miss Patty somewhere; I'm sure she'd love to help."

Instead of retorting he took a step forward, until he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. He looked up at her, the picture of nonchalance. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Her response was to reach for the window. She got it halfway closed before his arm shot out and grabbed the bottom, halting her efforts. The expression on her face could have murdered him where he stood. "You know, this is grounds for breaking and entering."

"Well it wouldn't be the first time," he replied, beginning to climb into her room. She stood back, powerless to stop him but refusing to help. He only faltered once, swinging his leg up over the sill. When he had finally succeeded and stood in the center of the room she smiled bitterly.

"You do realize I could call the police and have you arrested right now," she told him plainly. He rolled his eyes.

"Please. As if you could convince anyone that you don't want me here." He flopped down onto her bed and she instinctively squirmed, not sure how to feel about the object of her fantasies inadvertently setting himself up for one. She took a step away, towards the door, and leaned back against it. It was best to keep her distance. As long as he wasn't near her, she couldn't screw up.

"Okay, Jess, I give up." She sighed, crossing one foot over the other. "Why are you here?"

He was staring at the ceiling instead of her, a fact she found relieving but also strangely bothersome. "Just stopping by." He paused, as if unsure of his next words. "This is what friends do, Rory."

"Yes, but see, that would make a lot more sense if we were _friends_," she stressed the word, picking imaginary dirt from under her fingernails to distract herself. "And if it weren't 7:00 in the morning."

Jess shrugged again, sitting up to look at her. "Insomnia," he offered matter-of-factly. "Makes it hard to stay inside." His gaze became more careful then, studying her, and she fidgeted unconsciously, trying to look away. "But then, I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"Why would you say that," she mumbled, twisting a loose thread on her shirt around her pinkie finger.

"You were at Luke's at 6:00 in your pajamas. I'd say something's going on here." He looked around the room, eyes narrowed, as if searching for evidence. "And I'd say it had something to do with that grocery-bagging boyfriend of yours."

Rory winced at the reference, keeping her eyes fixed on the carpet. "Like it's any of your business," she muttered darkly. She twisted her fingers together, trying to force the mental images that she got from his lying on her bed out of her mind. She started to try to remind herself that she had a boyfriend, and then remembered that that wasn't true anymore. She decided it was best to stick with the carpet. It hadn't failed her yet.

"Oh, I think it can completely be considered my business." Jess slid off the bed and walked over to her, leaving barely an inch between them. His mouth was barely a finger's length away from her neck. "I want to know what he does to you," she closed her eyes as his hot breath washed over her skin. "What he does to make you leave the house in your pajamas at sunrise…to let a strange boy," he inhaled and exhaled heavily, sending shivers straight down her throat and into her stomach, "into your room" his eyes rose to meet hers, and she backed herself against the door as flat as she could go, trying to ease away from his moving lips, "without even trying to stop him." He pressed himself against her, moving slowly from side to side, rubbing his hips against hers. She inhaled sharply.

"S-stop that," she gasped out, refusing to open her eyes for fear that they would meet his. He continued the motion, slower and slower, pushing her harder against the door. She whimpered, clenching her teeth and trying to pacify a moan rising in the back of her throat. She didn't have to see the look of pure satisfaction on his face to know that it was there. She felt him place two hands on the small of her back.

"Is this what he does to you?" His voice whispered in her ear, turning her stomach into an avalanche. She squirmed, trying to shake her head, wishing she hadn't moved at all when she felt his mouth glide across her cheek, guided by the motion. His hands came around to the front, up, over her hips, dipping below the waistband of her pajama pants and then up again, sliding under the fabric of her shirt. His touch started gentle and became rougher, fingers pressing into her skin, massaging. She panted slightly, still attempting to keep the sounds of ecstasy at bay. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Well?" Jess murmured, his body still flush against hers. "Is it?" His mouth slid up to her ear again, and his lips brushed lightly against the skin below as they formed the words. "Or does he do…_more_?" And his hands pressed harder.

"Maybe he calls out your name," he whispered, restarting the slow, careful movement of his hips against hers. He dropped his head, burying his face in her neck. "Rory," he breathed, his exhalations rapid and irregular. A shudder caused her entire body to vibrate. With the movement she instinctively placed her hands on his waist, fingers splayed across his hips. "Rory," he groaned into her ear, swaying against her.

And she broke. Her legs came up around his waist and she clutched at him, moaning his name over and over as he dumped her on the bed and threw himself on top of her. The feeling of his lips finally over hers and his sharp, bitter tongue tasting sweet as it ravaged her mouth was enough to banish the last semblance of her self-control, and before she even realized what was happening articles of clothing were finding themselves strewn around her room. She fumbled the whole time, uncertain, but he was patient, guiding, rubbing her thigh to keep her calm. And when she had spent her last breath panting his name she felt him fall back, and slowly moved into his embrace, where he whispered in her ear to stop her shivering.

Hours later she woke up, forgetting where she was until she turned and found his dark eyes looking at her. His hand crept over the exposed cream of her stomach, until it reached and found both of hers, and held them while he fell asleep.

It could have been her boyfriend of two years. It could have been the one who had built her a car, made her a bracelet, gone with her to that stupid debutante ball. It could have been the boy who had always been there for her, and loved her more deeply than he claimed he would ever love anyone else.

Instead it was the boy she had known for several months, a year maybe, and had harbored a secret affection for almost since the first week he had shown up. It was the boy who had crashed that car her boyfriend built, stolen the bracelet that her boyfriend made, and won her basket in the auction so that he could have lunch with her and her boyfriend could not. It was the boy that she had probably just given herself to on a lustful one-night stand, and couldn't trust to be there for her.

She'd had that with Dean, that kind of security. She'd given it up for Jess.

She'd given everything up for Jess.

His fingers tightened around hers and he shifted in his sleep, groaning slightly. She squeezed his hand and stroked his palm, pacifying him.

"Rory…" he murmured, pulling her against his chest. "Rory…"

She closed her eyes against the sunlight and fell asleep. When she woke up again the room was dark and he was gone.

His jacket was around her shoulders.


End file.
